


A Beast to Seek

by crushcandles



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dom/sub, Frottage, Humiliation, M/M, Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26428954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushcandles/pseuds/crushcandles
Summary: Jaskier doesn't actually need to be told what Geralt wants. He's a good student and Geralt's a fantastic subject. Dense, frustrating, but ultimately, quite rewarding. And he's an easy read now. When he comes at Jaskier with animal roughness what he wants is roughness back. To suffer, through whatever means necessary.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 153





	A Beast to Seek

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt from my SG!anon over on tumblr: “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” Title from [Mustn’t Hurry](https://youtu.be/0dGVCqQRnyE) by Fever Ray.

Geralt comes at him like a beast, all clutching hands and snarling mouth. He backs Jaskier up against the rock wall bordering the south of their camp with his bulk and treats Jaskier to a rough, searching kiss. Jaskier lets him do it, putting a light hand on his nape, feeling how tense it is. He feels like he’s gripping a stone brick. It must hurt, for Geralt to himself so stiffly all the time. 

Jaskier meets Geralt's kiss with soft lips and a welcoming tongue. He lets Geralt have his mouth until it's sore and then pulls away. Geralt ducks to his neck immediately, mouthing there restlessly. 

Rubbing his fingers on the tingly shortness of the shaved hair on Geralt's nape, Jaskier tips his chin back to give Geralt some space. He asks, "What would you have tonight?"

"You," Geralt replies brusquely, working his hips against Jaskier's, as if his hard cock will prove his case. 

Jaskier laughs and gets a glancing bite against his pulse for his humour. Geralt gets a light cuff on the nape in return. Jaskier's not interested in visible lovemarks and Geralt knows it. They're bad for business. 

"Some help you are," Jaskier murmurs, fingers in the fall of Geralt's hair, guiding his mouth back where it belongs. They kiss again, and this time Jaskier gives as good as he gets, better even, if Geralt's choppy groan and pushy hips are any indication. 

Jaskier doesn't actually need to be told what Geralt wants. He's a good student and Geralt's a fantastic subject. Dense, frustrating, but ultimately, quite rewarding. And he's an easy read now. When he comes at Jaskier with animal roughness what he wants is roughness back. To suffer, through whatever means necessary. 

Jaskier pulls his mouth away again, and shoves Geralt off him with both hands. 

"Show me your cock," he commands. 

Geralt makes a harsh sound at Jaskier’s tone, palming himself through his leathers before he starts tearing at the laces. He snaps one of them but that doesn’t give him any pause. He simply claws the laces, broken and whole, outward until he can get his leathers halfway to his knees. 

Jaskier’s undoing his own trousers, but leisurely, enjoying the relief each button-pop brings. He holds up a hand when Geralt moves to stalk back to him. 

“I said show me, not just get your prick some fresh air.”

Jaskier intends it as a hit and it strikes true; Geralt stops as if Jaskier has just hit him. His hands drop to his sides and his eyes flicker around their camp. Even distracted, Geralt would have never missed an interloper but he’s checking anyway. Nervous.

“Go on,” Jaskier coaxes, inching his own trousers down to the base of his cock. “No one’s here.”

Geralt puts a hand on his cock, but only to cover, palming it up against his belly. “Just the man who writes songs about me.”

Jaskier thumbs the base of his own cock idly. Geralt watches him avidly, his hand still cradling his cock protectively. 

“I’ve resisted the urge to commemorate your cock in song so far,” Jaskier says. “Now stop stalling. I won’t wait forever.”

Glaring at Jaskier, Geralt palms his cock. The faltering movements of his hand don't make for a very inspiring show. Geralt handles his cock like it's a foreign weapon, his grip clumsy and slow, which is a shame, given the beauty of his cock. As thick as a bottle, with a heavy skin covering the blunt tip, Geralt should give it the good treatment it deserves, instead of the awkward tugging it's currently getting, which in itself doesn't do much for Jaskier. 

It's his face that provides the pleasure Jaskier's looking for. His mouth is turned down murderously, but his glaring eyes hold more than just anger. There's pleasure there, well-wrapped in shame. He likes what Jaskier's making him do, and he's upset that he likes it, which makes the pleasure all the better and the shame all the heavier. A beautiful, deadly snake, stuck swallowing its own tail.

As a reward for his compliance, Jaskier eases his own hard cock out of his trousers. Without his cock holding them up, his trousers drift down his thighs. Jaskier lets them go, part of the show. 

He works his cock with much more skill than Geralt, tilting it out so Geralt can see all of it, stroking slowly so Geralt will imagine how it would feel if Jaskier did that to him. He can practically see Geralt have the thought. 

Geralt’s mouth opens, his eyebrows drawing together. His hand on his cock changes rhythm, mimicking the same thorough stroke of Jaskier’s hand. He groans, wetness welling at the tip of his prick. 

"Jaskier," he says, taking an uneasy step forward. 

Too busy stroking his cock to hold up a stopping hand, Jaskier asks, "Did you decide what you want yet?"

Eyes still fixed on Jaskier's hand and his cock, Geralt mumbles, "You." Stubborn, stupid, like it’s the only word he’s learned.

Jaskier sighs, dropping his cock. "Come here."

Geralt doesn't let go of his cock as he stumbles over to Jaskier. The first touch between them is his knuckles brushing Jaskier's belly on an upstroke. His mouth covering Jaskier's is the second. 

Jaskier allows the sloppy, tongue-heavy kiss for a moment before he rakes his nails down Geralt's bare thigh. Geralt breaks off, cursing, although his hand stutter-speeds on his cock. And the look he gives Jaskier is as close to begging as Jaskier could hope for. He won't say _please_ though. Jaskier hasn't gotten him that good yet. 

"Jaskier..." is what he says instead. His voice is guttural, full of want.

"You," Jaskier says mockingly. "Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?" 

It's the second strike, first blood. Geralt flinches, clutching his cock. But it throbs when Jaskier eases his hand around it, Geralt's fingers giving it up without a fight. Jaskier strokes it a few times before lifting his palm to spit into it. His mouth is watering, so he wets his palm well. He bumps his cupped hand into Geralt's chin next. Geralt flinches again, but spits, hardly anything added. His mouth must be dry from the shame. Jaskier knows he likes friction on his cock though, so his parched tongue serves him well now.

He wraps his just-wet-enough hand around Geralt's cock and Geralt jerks into it, clawing his hands into Jaskier's sleeves. 

"Someone's wound up," Jaskier remarks as the head of Geralt's cock fucks through his fist. Geralt drops his face, chewing on his lip. He looks agonized, stuck between between staying and being good for Jaskier and peeling off to try and drown himself in the nearest pond. 

Jaskier takes pity on him. He grips a handful of Geralt's hair in one hand as he guides Geralt's cock between his thighs with the other. Geralt jolts at the sensations, his hips going forward, his head back. Jaskier clenches his hand around Geralt’s hair and his thighs around Geralt’s cock keep Geralt right where he is. The sound Geralt makes at the rough handling is soft, wounded. 

"Not much of a beast now," Jaskier says, guiding Geralt's face into his neck by the hair. Geralt doesn't really blush the way any of Jaskier's other bed-partners do, but his skin goes hot with the right stimulation. Now his cheek and his temple are feverish against Jaskier's throat, tacky with sweat. With his other hand, Jaskier grips Geralt's arse, encouraging him to start to thrust into the dry space between his thighs. It'll get uncomfortable quickly, but that's good. Geralt won't last long once the spit dries.

For now, Jaskier rests his cheek on Geralt's hair so he can murmur, "More of a dog, really," and feel what that does it Geralt, how it hurts him and makes him hump harder into the space Jaskier's been kind enough to give him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at [crushcandles](https://crushcandles.tumblr.com/)


End file.
